


Stay

by halfsoursaffitz



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen (Web Series), Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF
Genre: Brad/Claire Secret Santa, Close Quarters, F/M, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Snowed in!, angstfluff?, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsoursaffitz/pseuds/halfsoursaffitz
Summary: The truth was, a small, heartsick, desperate part of her had wanted him to ask her to stay.No, not a small part of her. All of her. She would have fucking painted it on a wall a lá Pacey Witter if she'd thought it would make a difference.———It’s Claire’s last ever day of work in the test kitchen. She’s tired of unrequited love and ready to move on with her life. But when she and Brad get snowed in at work, will her resolve crumble?
Relationships: Brad Leone & Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professortennant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/gifts).



> This is a secret santa gift for professortennant! 
> 
> The prompt: "snowed in at work, bonus points if it's a little angsty!"
> 
> Hope I did it justice! Enjoy!

* * *

Christmas was in two days.

It was in two days, and here Claire was, standing at her station, testing recipes in an empty kitchen at work.

Well, almost empty. 

Every so often, a brief whistle or a click of the tongue reminded her that Brad was at his station, too, one counter back, catching up on some recipe testing of his own after he’d been gone filming on location for ten days.

One would think that they both would have better things to do than come in to an empty office on December 23rd and work. 

But, apparently, they didn’t.

The sound of Brad’s knife hitting the cutting board, interspersed with his occasional off-key hum, made Claire almost feel like they were back in old times again, before the videos had started, before they’d skyrocketed to fame both separately and together. 

But that was years ago now, and now wasn’t then.

No, things were unmistakably different. 

Today was Claire’s last day of work in the test kitchen. For good this time. 

She’d been balancing this freelance thing for a while, and it had been working, mostly. Until it hadn’t.

Between her book deal, her brand deals, gourmet candy-related stress, burnout, and finally having the funds to open her own bakery up in Massachusetts like she’d always wanted, she’d decided to finally throw in the towel.

That, and she didn’t think that her heart could take this anymore. 

Over half a decade of uncertainty, of bad timing, of missed opportunities. Of heartache.

She needed a clean break. 

She could never make herself stop being in love with Brad if he was always close by, always within easy reach. 

And so she’d signed a lease for a cute little shop with a big window somewhere in the Berkshires, hoping that there, away from the bustle of the city and the sight of Brad Leone, she would finally find some peace again. 

She wouldn’t be totally cut off from the city. It was an easy journey, and she’d have to come back for things like promotional shoots and brand parties. She wasn’t going full _Walden_. 

But she was looking forward to the fresh air. The freedom to set her own menus. To having a garden again.

Her going away party had been a few days ago, filled with hugs and stories and fruity cocktails. She wasn’t sure if her coworkers had planned the party knowing Brad would be gone, if Brad had made plans to be gone once he’d heard about the party, or if it had all been sheer coincidence.

Whatever the reason, he hadn’t been there. And it had hurt.

Sure, he’d been around while she’d filmed her last three _Gourmet Makes_ videos, hovering around her station, pushing her buttons, leaning down by her elbow like he always did – possibly even more so than he usually did.

But that was the thing. It was what he _always_ did. Harmless flirtation, friendly teasing, the occasional round of teamwork. Nothing more than someone who was just a friend would ever do.

The truth was, a small, heartsick, desperate part of her had wanted him to ask her to stay. 

No, not a small part of her. All of her. She would have fucking painted it on a wall a lá Pacey Witter if she'd thought it would make a difference.

She would have called the whole thing off if she’d ever had a clear sign that proved he felt the same thing for her that she did for him.

Life-changing, terrifying, devastating love.

But since she’d announced her plans six weeks ago, not a single sign had caught her notice.

Until this afternoon, she thought he wouldn’t even see her in time to say goodbye. 

And yet, about an hour after she’d come in to do some final recipe testing and to take home the equipment she’d always kept at the office – her favorite apron, and the rolling pin that he’d given to her all those months ago – he’d appeared, waving hello and slinging a towel over his shoulder like there was nothing different, nothing significant about the day. 

She was torn. Brokenhearted that he wasn’t acknowledging the elephant in the room, but a little grateful that her last day with him would be doing what they did best: working in easy, perfect tandem in the kitchen. 

She’d turned on the stereo system in the kitchen when she’d come in, selecting a _Nutcracker_ ballet playlist as her background music, and Brad hadn’t bothered to change it. As the _pas de deux_ crescendoed melodically in the background, the harsh, fierce wind outside raised in pitch, threatening to drown Tchaikovsky out all together. 

Setting down her scraper, Claire headed toward the floor-to-ceiling window, crossing her arms against the draft. As the wind continued to howl, she noticed the swirl of fat, bright white snowflakes beginning to fly by, steadily decreasing visibility.

“Uh, Brad? Do you know anything about any potential bad weather today? I forgot to check this morning when I left home.”

He paused his dicing to glance up at the window. A frown pulled at his lips. “I didn’t think there was gonna be a problem today – there was a storm that was s’posed to head upstate – but that looks kinda bad, Claire. D’you mind if I turn the radio to the weather station?”

“Go ahead,” she encouraged, stepping back from the window slightly. Her nose was starting to numb with cold so close to it. 

Brad disappeared around the corner, and the sound of the ballet cut out. It was replaced a few seconds later by a staticky, monotonous voice.

“Current time: 3:30 P.M. There is a winter storm warning in the tri-state area. Winds of up to 50 miles per hour have been reported. White-out conditions are currently affecting the greater New York City area. Travel of any kind at this time is highly discouraged and considered to be dangerous. Please tune in at every quarter hour for the latest updates.”

As the alert finished, the snow picked up even more. Claire could no longer see the neighboring buildings or the streets below. 

She turned, her gaze locking on Brad’s.

“We’re stuck,” they said together, ever in sync.

At least in every way but one. 

… 

“...All public transportation has suspended operations until tomorrow at the earliest. Please heed this advisory and make plans accordingly. Stay indoors except for the most pressing emergencies. Winds are still reaching up to 60 miles per hour and snow is accumulating-”

“There hasn’t been any new information for a solid hour, Claire. D’you mind if I change the station?” Brad interrupted.

“Yeah, go ahead. Looks like we’re stuck here overnight no matter what, anyway.” Claire shrugged. 

The fact that at her last day of work in the test kitchen, Brad had not only shown up, but they were about to be snowed in together completely alone, was fucking with her head. She might’ve thought it was some kind of sign from the universe if she believed in that kind of thing. 

Because even – if she was being honest with herself – though Brad was the real reason this _was_ her last day, she couldn’t deny that her self-sabotaging, masochistic little heart wasn’t kind of relishing in it right now, disgustingly looking forward to whatever fleeting happiness it might bring her here at the end. 

Brad disappeared momentarily, going to the back to fiddle with the stereo. A few seconds later, the bright, electronic opening chords of “Last Christmas” began pulsing through the speakers, accompanied by an enthusiastic clap from Brad somewhere a few yards behind her.

“This is the best Christmas song, Claire. Can’t beat George Michael. I’m not takin’ any arguments.” 

“I actually agree with you on this one, Brad,” Claire held up her hands in defense, dropping her spoon back into her almond-poppyseed shortbread dough. “This version specifically, though. None of the covers.” 

He sidled up to her, dipping a finger into her dough, swiping some, and tasting it.

“Brad!” she scoffed. “Use a spoon!” She mock-frowned at him, not actually meaning it. She loved when Brad tried out her recipes. He usually turned down everyone else’s. 

It was just one more way he made her feel special to him.

A misguided feeling, Claire had finally learned. 

“Mm. I like the almond instead of lemon in there. Everybody always does lemon. Keep ‘em on their toes, half-sour. Hey, you wanna try some of my charcuterie?” He asked, pronouncing it “CHAR-cute-terry”. Claire tried to hide a grin. Bookish nerd and general language snob that she’d always been, his botched pronunciations should have just annoyed her, but somehow, they always managed to make her laugh. 

“You cured your own meats? Yeah, give me some.” 

When Claire turned around, Brad was holding up a small piece of pepperoni, lifting it to her lips expectantly. She only hesitated for a second before eating out of his hand, like he fucking owned her.

Maybe he did. 

It was a little sweet, a little spicy. It was delicious, because of course it was. Everything that Brad did was impossibly, infuriatingly good, in spite of the fact that he never measured anything and hardly ever did any research. He had one of the best instincts Claire had ever seen in a kitchen. 

“It’s really good, Brad.” 

He smacked the counter enthusiastically. “Thanks, Claire. ‘M glad you like it.” He sliced off a piece for himself, glancing out the window. The sun had all but gone down, and the sky was fading from shock-white to black, shot through with the still-heavily-falling sheets of snow. “That looks pretty gnarly. Whaddaya say to an actual meal, since we’re stuck here?”

Claire wasn’t going to deny that she was hungry. “Uh-huh. Let me get these in the oven and we can figure something out.”

“I’ll get the door for ya,” Brad said cheerfully, and Claire tried not to think about the fact that it might be the last time she’ll ever hear him say it. 

… 

Claire emerged from the walk-in, pleased by the waft of almondy-smell that was already coming from her oven. 

“Can we make something with these mushrooms?” She held up a bowl of them. “I’m feeling mushroom-y. What do you say?”

“I’m always feelin’ mushroom-y, Claire. Bring ‘em over. I’ll make us some mushroom burgers, yeah? We got any yellow onion back there?” 

“You check, I need to look in on my shortbread.” Claire deposited the mushrooms on his station and stooped down, peering into the oven. 

A few minutes later, Brad returned with day-old brioche, ground beef, onions, half a round of provolone, and a skillet. 

“Let’s get down n’ dirty,” he announced, rubbing his hands together. “You wanna do a little choppy-chop, and I’ll handle the beef?” 

“Yeah,” Claire agreed. “I think I’m gonna make a quick truffle mayo, too.”

“Please do,” he replied, patting out the meat. 

And then there they were, side by side at the same station, working together to make something delicious. But this time – this last time – it was just for them. The lack of lights, cameras, and general kitchen bustle made it feel oddly intimate, almost domestic to Claire. Made her think that this could have been them, at home on a weeknight, enjoying each other’s company and sleeping in the same bed together afterward and maybe even the loving and cherishing until death do they part thing too. 

But it didn’t matter now, she reminded herself. Now they were just two friends at work making something to eat because they literally couldn’t leave. 

They ignored all of the seating in the room and chose to sit on the counter to eat instead, side by side, Bing Crosby crooning low over the howl of the wind as they chowed down. Claire’s shortbread sat cooling on the opposite counter, and she swung her heels like a child as she licked the grease from her fingers.

“The mayo really pulls it together,” Brad commented, swallowing down the last of his food. “We make a pretty good team, y’know. Don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya.” 

His voice was light, but his words made Claire’s eyes snap to him, her swinging feet now still. Up until now, he hadn’t really said anything that even _acknowledged_ that she was leaving, much less expressed that he’d miss her when she was gone.

Claire was so taken aback that by the time she realized she should have replied, the moment had passed. Brad had hopped off the counter, disappearing momentarily and returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Figured we gotta pass the time somehow,” he shrugged, twisting a corkscrew into the neck of the bottle. “Toast to this fuckin’ sumbitch blizzard, or whatever.” He gave them both a generous pour of Zinfandel, clinking his glass against hers and holding her gaze like he always did. Tonight, it was a little harder for Claire to meet his eyes. 

“To this _bastard_ of a storm,” Brad declared, stretching his glass toward the window as if to toast with it too. “And to you, Claire. One of our finest. May you find a Michelin star in your next gig.”

His gaze lingered on her, his eyes kind but mostly unreadable. A lump began to rise in Claire’s throat, and she downed a mouthful of wine to drown it out. 

A shriek of wind whipped past them, and suddenly, they were plunged into darkness.

“ _Shit_ ,” Claire groaned, feeling her eyes dilate as they tried to adjust to the inky blackness around them.

“Just give it a sec, the backup generators will come on in a jiffy,” Brad said reassuringly from somewhere to her left. 

A minute passed.

And then another.

Still another, and no lighting returned.

“Or not,” Brad said flatly. “That’s fine too, I guess.” 

Claire dug into her back pocket for her phone and clicked the flashlight on. “Surely there’s some candles around here, right?”

“Maybe. You wanna split up and look?” Brad fumbled in his pocket for his phone as well.

“No,” Claire said quickly. “No splitting up.”

Brad snorted. “What do ya think would happen, Claire? The abominable snowman shows up to steal ya away? If there’s any yeti-like figures around here Claire, it’s gonna be me.” 

Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s just creepy up here in the dark, okay? The dark is creepy. I don’t like it.” 

Shining his light on the counter, Brad grabbed the wine bottle and motioned to her. “Well come on, then. I’ll fight off anything that goes bump in the night.” 

They did find candles – apparently Molly kept a stash of them for the office room for whenever someone cooked something particularly pungent – and returned to the kitchen with an armful of jars filled with soy wax, a grill lighter shoved into Brad’s pocket. Soon, the room was awash with a low, golden glow, the sound of crackling flame on the wicks cheering up the atmosphere a bit. 

As they munched on Claire’s shortbread, the wine bottle steadily emptied. They’d abandoned the glasses, instead choosing to pass the bottle back and forth and sip straight from the neck. Though Claire could feel the alcohol slowly warming her blood, she couldn’t help but notice the air steadily growing colder. The giant windows certainly weren’t helping them out now. 

“You cold?” She asked, rubbing her arms to chafe warmth into them. 

“A little,” he conceded, taking the final swig of wine before the bottle went dry. “You wanna find another bottle of this and go find that blanket stash in the back of the office? Gaby brought them in. Said she gets too cold after restocking the walk-in sometimes.”

Claire eyed the empty wine bottle, considering. Getting drunk with Brad, the catalyst of the life upheaval she was about to embark on, while trapped in here with him on her very last day of work was an objectively bad idea. 

But she was cold, and this was going to be a long night, and she wanted to enjoy the little time she had left with him if she could.

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, picking up a candle and heading for the pantry. 

… 

“...and _that’s_ why I have nightmares about snapping turtles,” Brad finished his story, laughing. They’d moved all of their candles to the break area at the back of the office, and their second bottle of wine was already running low. Claire had settled on the floor for some reason – an inexplicable habit of her drunken self that had developed back when she was in college – and Brad was above her on a worn couch, his cheeks flushed from drink. A blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she snorted with laughter at his story, her forehead falling to rest against his knee.

“Brad,” Claire wheezed, “how are you even still alive? You’re like a _cat._ With nineteen lives!”

“That is _not_ how the saying goes,” he corrected, shaking a finger at her. “You’re the smart one, Claire, you should know that!”

Claire was drunk, but not so drunk to not notice that Brad was less drunk than her. It made sense. He was unfathomably big. Sometimes she worried that standing next to him on camera made her look like a goddamn hobbit in the shadow of a wizard. 

With a slight struggle, she got to her feet. “I’m not always smart,” she responded seriously, wobbling a bit as she clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders. 

No, she wasn’t. Sometimes instead of moving on, she stuck around for over half a decade, being utterly delusional and hoping that someone like Brad would ever love her back. 

That definitely hadn’t been smart.

“You’re not doin’ too good there balancing, Claire. Here, come sit down.” Brad motioned her toward him, patting the tops of his thighs enthusiastically. Claire definitely wasn’t drunk enough to not take pause at that. Surely, he didn’t mean…?

“I can’t sit in your _lap_ , Brad,” she retorted, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” he protested, patting his knee again. “Best seat in the house! It’ll keep you warmer,” he added, his face serious. “Let me keep ya warm.”

Claire _was_ drunk enough to give in to this. Hell, she wanted to, and she was going to let herself have it. 

“Fine,” she said in mock-annoyance, depositing the now-empty wine bottle on the coffee table and lowering herself onto his lap. She sat sideways, so that her back was against the arm of the couch and her face was turned toward his. His arms immediately circled her waist, holding her securely, his hands clasped lightly at her hip.

His face was very close. Somehow still tanned, even into December. She wanted to kiss every inch of it.

Instead, she didn’t kiss it at all. 

_He wouldn’t want that_ , she thought. 

“Brad,” she heard herself say suddenly, unable to tear her gaze from his sickeningly blue eyes, which were just inches from hers.

Her inhibitions lowered, she plowed on before she could have second thoughts. “Why didn’t you come to my going away party?”

His gentle smile fell along with his eyes. “Ah, geez, Claire, y’know, schedules get hard to switch around, n’ well, I guess…” he trailed off, his grip tightening unconsciously around her hips, scooting her closer to his body. “I guess m’ not too good at goodbyes, y’know? Never have been.”

“But you went to Vin’s goodbye party,” Claire protested, and somewhere deep down, her sober self was dumbstruck by the bravery of her drunken self.

But regardless of inebriation, Claire wanted to know. She needed to know.

His eyes finally lifted back to hers, sparkling in the candlelight. “Well, you’re not Vin, Claire.”

Her heart constricted. 

No.

Not now.

Not when it was too late for anything to be done. 

A part of her wanted to ask him if he loved her.

But another part of her didn’t want to know anymore. No amount of alcohol in her veins could make Claire want to hurt _that_ much.

Besides, she already knew what the answer was.

If he did, he definitely would have said something by now. He’d had _six years_ to say something, and he never had.

And that was that. 

Sighing, Claire leaned down to tuck her face against his neck. The wine was beginning to weigh heavily on her now, and her eyes drifted shut, reaching for oblivion. 

… 

Claire blinked her eyes open into the flickering, golden candlelight, finding her head resting against the arm of the couch. Somehow, in sleep, her body had sprawled prone across Brad’s lap like some kind of absurd approximation of the _P_ _ietà._ His arm was draped over her waist, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, and his head leaned back against the top of the loveseat.

And his eyes were open.

And he was looking at her.

There was an arresting tenderness in his gaze, as if he’s been looking at her for a long time. It made her breath catch in her throat. 

“Claire,” he breathed, more a prayer than a statement. “Do ya really have to go?”

Claire was more awake now, only vaguely tipsy and very aware that her heart has begun to do an uncomfortable, violent thrum in her chest. 

She didn’t move, only tilting her chin toward him. “It’s time, Brad. This place has run its course for me. It’s not...good for me anymore.” 

He finally looked away from her, his eyes drifting down to his lap, his face somber. “I know you don’t care too much about havin’ me around anymore, Claire, but I gotta admit, I’ve been havin’ a real hard time picturing this place without ya.” 

Claire frowned. What was he talking about? “Brad, what makes you think that?”

“Well, ya don’t really laugh at my jokes anymore. You kinda just seem annoyed when I come around while you’re workin’ on somethin’. You don’t really chitchat with me unless you have to.” He finally raised his eyes back to her. “I know I’m not the brightest bulb in the bunch, Claire, but I can tell when someone doesn’t want me around ‘em.” 

Oh god. Did he really not know? Claire knew she’d never been subtle. The cameras had picked up on all of her moony grins, her flirty giggling, her unnecessary touches – and that had only been while the cameras were rolling. Hell, the entire internet had picked up on the sparks between them. Had Brad never once thought that she might feel something more for him?

Claire hadn’t been avoiding him because she didn’t care about him.

She’d been avoiding him because she cared far, far too much.

In trying to protect her heart, she’d accidentally been punishing him. And not loving her back wasn’t a crime, no matter how much it hurt.

“Brad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll miss you more than I’ll miss anything else here. Big time.” She reached for the hand he still had clutched at her waist and covered it with her own.

His eyes searched hers, his gaze open and unwavering.

“Then stay.”

And there it was.

Claire shot upright, still in his lap, bringing her nose within inches of his.

Tears began to well in her eyes. 

No. She’d already made up her mind. She already knew that her feelings were unrequited. She was leaving. She couldn’t bear this now, when it was too late.

“What did you say?” She whispered.

He sighed, closing his eyes and briefly leaning his forehead against hers. When he opened them again, leaning back, his eyes fell briefly to her lips. Her arms snaked around his neck, holding on to him like a life raft, before her mind could catch up to the yearning of her body.

“I’m askin’ ya to stay, Claire. I told myself I wasn’t gonna be selfish about it, that I wasn’t gonna ask ya to stay just because I wanted you to, but I guess I can’t help myself here. I guess I can’t let ya go without at least tryin’.”

“Brad, it hurts too much for me to stay.” She felt a tear escape, rolling down her cheek. He lifted his hand, brushing it away, cupping her face in his palm. Instinctively, she leaned into it.

“What hurts, Claire? Why?” His eyes searched hers, genuinely curious. “Did something bad happen? Just tell me and I’ll do anything I can to make it better. I swear.”

Claire shook her head in frustration. “Nothing bad happened, Brad,” she muttered. “It fucking _hurts_ because I’ve been in love with you for _years_ and you don’t feel the same way, okay? I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, with surprise at her own honesty. But what did it matter? Once this storm let up, she might never see Brad again. It wouldn’t matter.

“Wha – are you serious right now, Claire?” Brad went still, his eyes wide. “No. No. I can’t fuckin’ believe this.” 

Claire scowled through her tears. “You don’t have to be so rude about it, Brad. It’s not like I wanted to feel this way-”

“Stop it, no.” He cut her off. He began to chuckle almost deliriously. “This is fuckin’ insane.”

Claire felt anger beginning to brew in her. “Brad, cut it out, okay?”

His laughter faded, and he turned to look at her again. “I can’t believe we’ve both been makin’ each other miserable on and off for the past six years, Claire. Because that’s how long I’ve carried a big-ass fuckin’ torch for ya.” 

Claire scrambled to her feet, backing away from him. 

“No. No, no, no.” She scrubbed a hand down her face, shaking her head. “Brad, don’t do this now.”

“I’m serious as a heart attack, Claire. God, I’ve been so fuckin’ in love with you for so long. And then you went n’ got famous, and the rest of the world fell in love with ya too, and sometimes I feel so goddamn jealous because you’re _mine_ and I loved you before the rest of ‘em did. Those videos BA puts out don’t come anywhere to doin’ you justice, Claire. Not even close. They don’t even understand.”

Claire didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. It seemed that currently, she was alternating between both.

“Then why-” she sniffed, annoyed that her voice had thickened with tears. “Why did you never say anything?”

Brad braced his hands on his knees, still sitting. “Y’know, I figured you’re a gal who knows what she wants, Claire. You never said anything, so I assumed you never wanted me.”

Claire buried her face in her hands. This was a fucking farce. She’d be rolling on the floor with laughter if this had been _anyone_ else. If it hadn’t been her heart that had been so broken.

“I _always_ wanted you,” she choked out. “I thought you only saw me as a friend. As an old pal or whatever.”

“So much more than that, Claire.” He shook his head incredulously. “I guess we’ve just both been fuckin’ up on the communication side of things for a real, _real_ long time.” 

Claire tried, futilely, to gather her thoughts. She’d already quit her job. She’d already signed the lease for her bakery. She was moving in _ten_ days.

But also, Brad was in love with her. He loved her back. And he was asking her to stay. 

Claire decided that her thoughts could be damned for right now.

She was going to do what she _wanted._

So she crawled back onto the couch, straddling Brad’s hips with her knees. His big, sturdy hands immediately wrapped around her waist, steadying her, and his eyes met hers.

He’d always had the most beautiful eyes.

She gently held his face in both hands, relishing in the scratch of his beard against her palms, the heat of his skin against her skin.

She searched his eyes briefly, and her heart swelled at what she found there. 

When her mouth fell on his, there was no hesitation from him at all. His hands drew her tighter against him as his lips met hers, slow and deliberate. She sighed against his mouth, her heart skipping as she felt him smile against her.

“You’re gonna have to pinch me later, Claire, or I’m gonna be scared this isn’t real,” he murmured, lifting one of his hands to move her hair aside so he could trail kisses down her hairline, her jaw, her throat. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her breathing becoming more shallow. Her lips sought out his again, dragging his face back up to hers. She was certain that her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

The kisses became hungrier, hotter. 

Abruptly, he broke away, panting slightly. His eyes locked on hers, softly, surely. 

Claire had never been good with eye contact. She always found herself wanting to look away after a few seconds, to focus on something else, to avoid the discomfort of being trapped by another’s gaze.

But not with Brad.

Looking into his eyes was like looking out the window and seeing the the street exit sign that would lead you straight to home.

“You never answered my question, Claire.”

“Brad…”

“I know it was selfish to ask, Claire. And hell, if you can’t stay, I’ll come to you. If you’ll have me,” he added, a little shyly. “Test kitchen isn’t the test kitchen for me if you’re not in it.”

Claire knew what the answer to the big picture was. Knowing what she knew now, it wasn’t even a question anymore.

But she didn’t know what the _answer_ was.

“Brad, my lease is already signed. I won’t have a home in New York anymore ten days from now.”

Brad’s eyes fell. 

She grabbed his face, raising it to hers. “But I love you.” She kissed him gently. “I love you too much to let this end before it starts.”

This time he kissed her, his beard scratching her chin. She cherished the feeling.

“So we’ll figure something out, okay? We always do. We’ve always worked better together, right? You know it and I know it and everyone else knows it. We’ll figure something out. Together.”

“You and me,” he grinned softly, earnestly, before pulling her in for a kiss again, longer this time.

When Claire woke up again, it was the very wee hours of the morning. She squinted in the darkness - only one candle was still left burning, and the air around them was shockingly cold. But beneath the blankets, her body draped over Brad's, she was still very warm. He'd fallen asleep with a hand curled around her neck, and she could feel her pulse against the rough skin of his palm.

It felt like a fever dream. Only the freezing air on her nose convinced her otherwise.

Smiling, she scooted forward, tucking her face deeper into his shoulder.

… 

Claire locked the front door to her bakery, briefly noticing a smudge on the window and making a mental note to take care of it first thing in the morning.

As she biked down the lane and headed home, she ruminated over a new recipe for a pear and frangipane tartlet she was thinking of adding to the menu next week. Almost every new item she introduced lately had been selling out, and she was grateful to have such a dedicated test market for all of her sugary imaginings come to life. 

When she wheeled her bike into the small, pebbled driveway, a chopping sound from the back of her house made her heart do a little flip.

She grinned. He must have made it home early.

She locked her bike to one of the fence posts and unlatched the gate to the backyard.

“Hey,” his voice drifted from the back corner behind the house. “Nights are still a little chilly, and I noticed we were gettin’ low on firewood.”

Claire crossed her arms, biting her lip lustfully. Brad was standing over a log, an axe looking oddly small in his large, strong hands. His sturdy arms caught the waning afternoon sunlight, but his smile was still brighter.

“You’re back early,” she called, wandering to his side.

“Yeah, I got the flight changed. We finished filming early, and I gotta say, you’re better company than an airport terminal full of grumps and suits.”

“How flattering,” Claire laughed, reaching up and tugging his face down to hers. She kissed him slowly, carefree and relishing in the way the scruff of his chin scratched against hers.

“How was Miami?” She asked as she wound her arms around his middle.

He tossed the axe into the grass, wrapping his hands around the back of her neck.

“Oh, y’know. I ate way too much ceviche. Hunzi ate way, _way_ too much key lime pie. I accidentally caught a barracuda while we were out on the water. Scared the shit outta Hunz, but it makes for good views, I guess.”

Brad had quit his full-time job at the test kitchen in February. _It’s Alive_ had been discontinued, but, as part of his freelance deal, _It’s Alive: Goin’ Places_ was more active than ever. Brad and Hunzi had been all over the continent the past two months, from Kansas to Prince Edward Island to Florida. Sometimes, he also tested recipes from home.

And for Brad, home was now Claire, in their little house with the big yard and the forest and the mountains and copious amounts of fresh air. 

“I can’t wait to watch it,” Claire laughed, her smile much wider, much more genuine now than it had been just four months ago.

Leaving New York had turned into one of the easiest things she’d ever done once she found out that Brad was coming with her. 

“Y’know, Claire, there’s still some daylight left,” Brad began, his thumb brushing lightly against her earlobe.

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was the only thing she could do other than let them drift shut with pleasure. 

“What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinkin’ that it’s been a while since your last lesson on driving a five-speed.” He shot her an obnoxious, irresistible grin.

“Brad, no, I’m never gonna get good at it! You can just drive me anywhere I want to go,” she whined. Manual transmissions were too much work, and she just _didn’t_ care enough to keep trying.

“Claire, Claire. Let’s give the people what they want!” Brad spread his arms wide in supplication. Claire couldn’t help but marvel at the truly astounding wingspan on him. On _her_ Brad.

“Brad, the cameras are gone. No one is watching us anymore. We don’t have to do anything!”

“Just because the cameras are gone doesn’t mean I stop lovin’ ya and wanting to improve your life, Claire.”

This time, Claire gave in and let her eyes drift shut. She’d gone so many years without hearing those words, words she’d been hoping every day to hear, that now, any time he said them still felt like a blessing, like a miracle. 

He loved her.

He _loved_ her.

“Okay, fine,” she agreed, leaning up to drop a kiss against his neck. “But afterward, we’re doing what _I_ want…”


End file.
